In the summer of 1989, Larry Rosenberg — one of the guiding teachers
at the Insight Meditation Society (IMS) in Barre, Massachusetts
— invited Phra Ajaan Suwat Suvaco to lead a two-week retreat at
IMS the following spring. Ajaan Suwat had been living in the United
States for several years at that point, founding monasteries for
the Thai communities in the Seattle and Los Angeles areas, but this
was his first opportunity to teach large numbers of non-Asian Americans.
The retreat was held in the first two weeks of May, 1990, with approximately
100 people attending. I was brought from Thailand to serve as interpreter.

The format of the retreat was simple. The retreatants did sitting
and walking meditation from early morning to late at night. There
had been a plan to encourage them to do walking meditation in the
stately forest behind the center, but the weather was so chilly
and rainy throughout the retreat that everyone was confined to the
building. One pleasant exception was the evening of Visakha Puja
— the holiday celebrating the Buddha's birth, Awakening, and final
passing away. This occurred toward the beginning of the retreat,
and provided an opportunity for the retreatants to perform a candlelit
circumambulation of the IMS complex as a full moon rose in the clear,
cold, twilit sky over the pines.

Throughout the retreat, Ajaan Suwat led small group interviews
in the afternoon and then met with all the gathered retreatants
in the evening, either to give a Dhamma talk or to answer questions.
Larry, meanwhile, led individual interviews in the mornings and
afternoons. Sadly, the taping of Ajaan Suwat's teachings was rather
haphazard. None of the afternoon sessions were taped, and as for
the evening sessions, there were days when both the Thai and the
English were recorded; other days when only the English was; and
other days, nothing. Thus our record of the retreat is fairly incomplete.

Still, what was recorded is extremely valuable, as this sort
of opportunity — for a Thai ajaan to speak directly to Westerners
in their own environment, and for them to ask him questions — is
rare. A number of Ajaan Suwat's students have transcribed the Thai
portion of the tapes, and this translation is taken from that transcription.
I haven't gone back to listen to the English passages on the tapes
— which are available for anyone who is interested — partly out
of embarrassment at my own shortcomings as an interpreter, but also
because I wanted to present the retreat as it sounded to Ajaan Suwat
himself: what he heard in the questions as they were translated
to him, and what points he was trying to get across.

A few of the teachings he gave during the retreat are etched
indelibly in my memory and yet didn't make it onto the tapes, so
I'd like to record them here. One was the comment he made to me
after the second day of the retreat, on how grim the retreatants
were in their approach to the meditation. He admired their dedication,
but was worried that they weren't finding any joy in the practice.
He attributed this to their coming directly to meditation without
having first gained the sense of joyful confidence in the Buddha's
teachings and in themselves that can come with a good foundation
in generosity and morality. His attempts to lighten the mood of
the retreat are obvious in his talks.

Two exchanges in the question and answer sessions also have remained
vividly in my mind. One was from an afternoon session. A man new
to the practice commented, "You guys would have a good religion
here with this Buddhism if only you had a God. That way people would
have some sense of support in their practice when things aren't
going well." Ajaan Suwat responded, "If there were a God who could
arrange that, by my taking a mouthful of food, all the beings in
the world would become full, I'd bow down to that God. But I haven't
yet found anyone like that."

The second exchange was during an evening session. A woman who
had sat several retreats complained to the effect: "I'm finding
myself frustrated in my practice of meditation. Now that I've gotten
started, I can't turn back, and yet I don't seem to be getting anywhere."
Ajaan Suwat's simple response: "Where are you trying to go?"

After a brief moment of silence, the woman laughed and said she
was satisfied with the answer.

I hope that the talks and discussions translated here will provide
satisfaction for you, the reader, as well.

We've all come here through a sense of conviction, intent on
studying and practicing the Dhamma that will bring happiness and
fulfillment to our hearts. We should understand that the Dhamma
taught by the Lord Buddha doesn't lie anywhere far away. As the
Canon says, skillful and unskillful dhammas arise right here in
the heart. If we want to study the Dhamma, we have to study our
own heart. When we're well acquainted with the heart, we'll be well
acquainted with the Dhamma. When we're well acquainted with the
Dhamma, we'll be well acquainted with the heart.

There are times when the heart is in bad shape. Bad mental qualities
get mixed up with it, making it even worse, making us suffer both
in body and mind. These bad mental qualities are said to be "unskillful"
(akusala). The Buddha teaches us to study these qualities
so that we can abandon them.

There are other times when the heart is in good shape: at ease
with a sense of well being. We feel at ease whether we're sitting
or lying down, whether we're alone or associating with our friends
and relatives. When the heart gains a sense of ease in this way,
it's said to be staying with the Dhamma. In other words, skillful
(kusala) mental qualities have appeared in the heart. The
skillful heart is what gives us happiness. This is why the Buddha
taught us to develop these skillful qualities, to give rise to them
within ourselves.

If you were to list these skillful qualities, there would be
lots of them. But even though there are lots of them, they all arise
in our one heart. So if we want to know and see the Dhamma, we have
to develop mindfulness and alertness, keeping watch over our heart.
If the heart isn't at peace, if it's distracted and turbulent, we
should realize that, at that moment, the heart is out of shape.
Unskillful qualities have arisen within it. So we should try to
be mindful and alert to put it back into good shape. We have to
keep watch over the heart to see whether, at this moment in time,
it's in good or bad shape.

If we see that the heart isn't yet in satisfactory shape, we
should let go of our unskillful preoccupations and make ourselves
mindful of what's good. We want to be happy, so we don't want the
things that will make us suffer. We should try to put the mind into
good shape, convinced in the practice of the Dhamma that will develop
our mindfulness. We have to look after the heart so that it's confident
and content in our practice. We should remind ourselves that in
following this practice we're following in line with the Buddha:
one who knows, who sees, an arahant free from defilement, released
from suffering in the cycle of death and rebirth. The fact that
we're practicing in line with the Dhamma taught by the Buddha means
that we're studying in an institution of highest learning, with
the Buddha as our foremost teacher.

So be mindful to keep your heart in good shape. Be mindful of
your meditation word, buddho. Or if you want, you can focus
on the in-and-out breath. When the breath comes in, keep your mind
at ease. When it goes out, keep your mind at ease. Don't be tense,
don't force things, don't get caught up in any desire to know or
see beyond reasonable bounds. If we give rise to this kind of desire,
this kind of defilement, it'll distract the heart. So we should
be careful to be mindful, to look after the mind, to meditate well.
Simply be mindful of the breath. When the breath comes in, let it
come in with ease. When it goes out, let it go out with ease. Let
the mind be at ease, too. If anything comes along to disturb you,
don't get involved with it. Just keep that sense of ease going.
If your mindfulness can keep maintaining your sense of contentment,
your sense of confidence in the practice, the mind will separate
from its outside preoccupations and gather into a sense of stillness.
There will be a sense of lightness. Comfort. A feeling of contentment
with that comfort.

If it so happens that while we're trying to maintain that sense
of ease in the heart, disturbances come in to interfere, making
the mind distracted and restless, we should remember that we don't
have to look for that lost sense of ease anywhere else. Remember:
wherever there's restlessness is where there is stillness. We have
to be alert to the preoccupations that have put the mind out of
shape: we don't want them, so we shouldn't pay them any attention.
We should try to remember the good preoccupations that have given
us a sense of peace and calm in the past. When we can put the mind
at ease in this way, the things disturbing that ease will disappear
right there, right where the bad preoccupation was. This is like
darkness: no matter how long the darkness has reigned, when we realize
that it's darkness and that we want light, we don't have to look
anywhere else. If we have a lantern, then as soon as we've lit it,
light will appear right where there was darkness before. We don't
have to look anywhere else. The darkness will disappear right there
where there's light. In the same way, when the mind isn't at peace,
we don't have to look for peace anywhere else. Restlessness comes
from an unskillful preoccupation; peace comes from a skillful preoccupation
right in the same place.

When we've developed a good preoccupation that puts the mind
at peace, we should look after it and maintain it well. As long
as this sort of preoccupation is in charge of the heart, the heart
will maintain its sense of ease. So we don't have to look for goodness
anywhere else, for that would simply distract and deceive the heart.
We have to keep looking at our own heart, to see if it's in good
shape yet or not. Everyone has a heart, and every heart has skillful
and unskillful qualities. So use the quality of dhamma-vicaya,
your powers of discriminating analysis, to observe the heart, this
sense of awareness right here within yourself.

While you're sitting here listening, focus your attention exclusively
on your own heart. The sound of the talk will come into the heart
of its own accord. You don't have to focus your attention outside
on the sound, or to analyze what's being said. Establish your mindfulness
right at the heart. When the person speaking mentions this or that
quality, the awareness of that quality will arise right in your
own heart. If it doesn't arise immediately, then give rise to it.
Say, for example, that the mind is in bad shape. When the person
speaking mentions goodness, try to give rise to a good mood within
the heart. Make yourself confident, content in the practice. Arouse
your efforts to give rise to knowledge of things you've never before
known, to attain things you've never before attained, to see the
subtle things you've never before seen, step by step within your
own mind.

During his lifetime, the Buddha taught the Dhamma fully knowing
the capabilities of his listeners, aware of the level of their intelligence
and potential, and of which aspect of the Dhamma they'd understand
most easily. He then would teach them that Dhamma. As for his listeners,
they would focus their attention on their own hearts and minds,
and would understand in line with the practices they had done in
the past. When the corresponding qualities appeared in their own
hearts, they were able to know in line with the truth appearing
within them. When the Dhamma appeared in their hearts, they experienced
peace and calm, or gained an understanding into the truths that
the Buddha taught. For example, when he taught about stress and
suffering, his listeners focused on the stress and suffering in
their own hearts. They tried to understand to the point where they
saw that things couldn't be otherwise than what the Buddha taught.
They really saw suffering and stress. When the Buddha taught
that the flaw called the origination of stress should be abandoned,
they saw the suffering that comes from craving. They saw how these
things are always related. Whenever craving arises, suffering always
follows in its wake.

As a result, they made an effort totally to abandon the origination
of stress. The more they were able to abandon craving, the weaker
their suffering grew. When they were able to cut craving totally
away, suffering and stress totally disappeared. They then knew clearly
in line with the truth. The state of their minds didn't deteriorate
or fall away, because they had entered into the truth. They had
listened to the Dhamma and focused on their own minds in the proper
way, so that they could see the basic principles of the truth with
their own mindfulness and discernment.

As for those whose mental faculties weren't yet fully strong,
who had developed their faculties only to a moderate level, even
though they didn't reach the Dhamma while they were sitting there
listening to it, the Buddha taught the noble eightfold path for
them to put into practice. This enabled them to gain knowledge and
understanding step by step, to the point where their mindfulness
and discernment were strong enough to bring them to the Dhamma at
a later point, in line with the merit and potential they had developed
on their own.

As for us: even though we may not reach the Dhamma while listening
to it, the Buddha laid down the path to the cessation of stress
for us to develop by putting it into practice. This path is nothing
other than the noble path: right view, right resolve, right speech,
right activity, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness,
and right concentration. Having taught about the right path that
we should develop, he also taught about the wrong path that should
be avoided. In other words, he taught us:

to abandon wrong view and to develop right view;to abandon
wrong resolve and to develop right resolve;to abandon wrong
speech and to develop right speech;to abandon wrong activity
and to develop right activity;to abandon wrong livelihood
and to develop right livelihood;to abandon wrong effort
and to develop right effort;to abandon wrong mindfulness
and to develop right mindfulness;to abandon wrong concentration
and to develop right concentration.

For this reason, we should acquaint ourselves with both the right
path and the wrong path. What sort of view ranks as the wrong view
we should abandon? Wrong view starts with views about the body,
or physical form in general. If we view physical form in line with
what the Buddha taught — that rupam aniccam, physical form
is inconstant; rupam dukkham, physical form is stressful;
rupam anatta, physical form is not-self — that's called right
view. But if we see physical form as constant — or try to make it
constant — that's wrong view, and runs counter to the Buddha's teachings.
In other words, if we see that rupam niccam, physical form
is constant; rupam sukham, physical form — the body — is
easeful; rupam atta, physical form is our self or really
our own, that's wrong view.

If we really look at the body in line with its truth, we'll see
that it really is inconstant. From the moment it's born we can easily
see the changes it undergoes. It ages and wears down every day.
This inconstancy is why we have to keep struggling under the desire
to make it constant and lasting. The nature of the body is that
it's always lacking one thing or another — like a water tank that's
continually leaking: we have to keep adding water to it to keep
it from running dry; if we forget to add water, it'll dry out for
sure. In the same way, the body is genuinely inconstant, genuinely
stressful. If it were constant, we wouldn't have to struggle, we
wouldn't have to keep looking for things to keep it going; we wouldn't
have to work. The reason we work for money is so that we can nourish
this body, which is continually wasting away. The Buddha saw clearly
that this work and struggle is stressful, that it's intimately tied
up with the inconstancy of the body. Wherever there's inconstancy,
there's stress. And because of that stressfulness, it's inconstant.
These qualities are dependent on each other.

When we've contemplated so that we see this truth, then we see
the Dhamma. We have right view. The more the mind understands stress
and suffering, the more it can grow still and let down its burdens.
Its greed will decrease. Its anger will decrease. Its delusion about
physical form will decrease. Its burdens will decrease. This will
make it brighter and more peaceful: a skillful mental state arising
in such a way that we can see it clearly when we contemplate the
events appearing in the mind in line with their truth.

When the Buddha explained right view, he started with stress
and suffering: jatipi dukkha — birth is stressful; jarapi
dukkha — aging is stressful; maranampi dukkham — death
is stressful. These are truths found within each and every one of
us — every person, every living being. Whether or not we study the
matter, this is the way things are in actuality, ever since who
knows when. For hundreds and thousands of years in the past, wherever
there has been birth, there has had to be aging, illness, and death
in its wake. The same thing is true in the present and even on into
the future: every person who takes birth will have to meet with
these things. This teaching is the genuine truth. It will never
change into anything else. No matter how many hundreds or thousands
of people will be born, they will all have to meet with illness,
will all have to age, will all have to die, each and every one of
them. Not one of them will remain. No matter what knowledge they
attain, what weapons they invent, they won't be able to win out
over this genuine truth. So once we've developed right view in this
way, we have to eliminate our defilements — in other words, our
intoxication with our youth, our intoxication with being free from
disease, our intoxication with being alive. We'll then be able to
behave in a way that will be to our own true benefit as long as
we are still alive.

As we develop mindfulness in contemplating the body in and of
itself, seeing its true nature and developing right view, our heart
will get more and more convinced of this reality, and will grow
farther and farther away from wrong view. We'll be able to develop
right view more continually. This is the path that will lead us
to attain the Dhamma, the ultimate peace.

As we develop right view, then right resolve will be no problem,
because our resolve to meditate so as to develop right view is,
in and of itself, right resolve: the resolve to see the Dhamma,
to know the Dhamma, in line with the truth that appears in our own
body, beginning with the truth of stress and suffering. Our body
is composed of birth: As soon as there's birth, there has to be
suffering. We suffer because of birth. Hunger, desire, intense heat
and cold: all of these things come from birth. And no matter how
carefully and adequately we look after the body, it has to keep
on aging and wasting away. No matter how much we plead with it,
it won't listen to us. It just keeps on aging. And on top of that,
it has all kinds of diseases. If you really look at the body, you'll
see that diseases can arise at any time at all. It's a home for
diseases. It has eyes, and so there are eye diseases. It has ears,
and so there are ear diseases. It has a nose, and so there are nose
diseases. It has a tongue, and so there are tongue diseases. Diseases
can arise in each and every one of its parts. This is a genuine
truth — which is why there are doctors and hospitals in every country.
All people of all races have to depend on medicine. Even the person
telling you this has diseases, just like everyone else. When we
look to really see the truth, we'll see that the Buddha's teachings
aren't in the least bit mistaken: they're right here in each and
every one of us.

If we develop our minds properly in line with the truth so that
its views are right, our restlessness and distraction will grow
calm. We'll see that the greed we've felt in the past has served
no real purpose. When anger arises toward other people, we'll see
that it serves no real purpose, that it's nothing but stress and
suffering. We'll see that our only way out is to make the mind still:
this is the way to true happiness. We'll gain disenchantment, seeing
— given the true nature of things — that what we've busied ourselves
with has served us no real purpose. It's tired us out to no real
purpose, created difficulties to no real purpose, and has left us
with nothing at all that we can truly call our own. Think about
all the things you've sought and amassed from your birth up to the
present moment: is there anything there that you can really depend
on? Anything you can really call your own? Nothing at all. None
of those things can really help you. They may help you a bit, but
not enough to give you any real happiness.

So I ask that you all work at developing right view. Meditate
on the four frames of reference (satipatthana) so as to develop
discernment. As you meditate — sitting, standing, walking, and lying
down — stay mindful of the body, which is filled with inconstancy.
No matter where you look, it's inconstant. It's also full of stress.
Wherever you look, you see that diseases and pains can arise at
any time. It can age at any time. There's no part of it that's totally
free of aches and pains. If you don't believe me, take a sharp spike
and stab any part of the body, and you'll see that it hurts wherever
you stab. You can see clearly in line with the truth that the whole
body is stressful. As for buddho, the awareness in the mind,
it'll be aware that what's really important is not the body: it's
the mind. When you see the drawbacks and stresses of the body, then
discernment, clarity, and calm will arise in the heart, freeing
it from its burdens and karma debts related to the body. In this
way we let go of our heavy burden: nicchato parinibbuto,
free from hunger, unbound, reaching a bliss and peace that is lasting.

So I ask all of you — who have conviction, who want peace, who
want happiness in your day-to-day life — to develop mindfulness,
to develop right view. Look at the body in and of itself. The body
in and of itself is mentioned in the Great Frames of Reference Discourse
(Maha-satipatthana Sutta), but it's not in the words. It's not there
in the book. It's right here. When we practice, we don't have to
recite the words. We look right at our own body, at what's already
here. Mindfulness is something we already have; all we need to do
is apply it to the body. If we're not mindful of the body, then
it's not right mindfulness. When we're mindful of the body, there's
our mindfulness: the mindfulness that will enable us to practice,
that will enable us to know. If we keep observing the body, we're
sure to see what's here.

The more we observe, the more proficient we'll become. We'll
understand clearly and correctly. The more clearly we see, the more
effort — right effort — we'll put into knowing and seeing even more
fully. Right mindfulness will be more continually mindful; and right
concentration, more firmly established. Right speech and right activity
will follow in their wake. So develop right view in your hearts
by developing the frames of reference. Keep track of the body in
and of itself, train in line with the truth, by day and by night,
whether you're sitting, standing, walking, or lying down. When you
practice correctly, no one with any true wisdom will be able to
take issue with you, for you're focused on the genuine truth: the
inconstancy, the stress and suffering, all four of the four noble
truths that can be seen right here in this body. These things can't
be seen anywhere else. If we really develop right view with regard
to these things, results will arise within us. When results arise,
the nature of the mind is that it will know on its own. It won't
have to be told. All that's necessary is that you practice rightly.
Begin trying from this moment on. Don't get distracted by this person
saying that or that person saying this. There's nowhere else you
have to look. The evidence is your own body. How inconstant it is,
you'll know for yourself. It won't lie to you. How stressful it
is — how many diseases, aches, and pains — you'll know for yourself.
It won't lie to you. The truth is always there for you to see.

Practicing to see in line with the truth in this way is called
seeing the Dhamma, the nature of reality in and of itself. We'll
come to see the truth all the way through and gain release from
suffering and stress. So keep at it. When you gain any understandings
of any sort, we can discuss them as they arise, step by step, until
you gain genuine release from suffering and stress. But this will
be enough for now.

I understand that Tibetan monks use visualization when they meditate.
Have you ever used visualization in your meditation?

Ajaan Suwat:

Visualization of what?

Question:

I'm not really sure. Maybe of the unattractiveness of the body?

Ajaan Suwat:

Visualization, if it's done in the proper way, can be useful.
If it's done in the wrong way, it can lead to delusion. The process
of visualization, in the language of the Dhamma, is called sankhara,
or fabrication. The Buddha taught us to be wise to the true nature
of fabrication, that it's inconstant and undependable. When we know
this truth, we don't get attached to the things that arise. When
knowledge arises and we don't get attached to it, then we don't
get deluded by it. That's when it can be useful.

One of the principles of the Dhamma is that if you visualize
anything in your meditation, you should visualize only things lying
within you, so that you see physical fabrication in the body and
mental fabrication in the mind in line with their true nature. For
example: at present you're not yet old, but you're taught to visualize
yourself as growing old in the same way you've seen other people
grow old. Remind yourself that as the years pass, you'll have to
age in just the same way. Aging is stressful. Your eyes won't be
able to see as clearly as when you were young. Your ears won't be
able to hear in the same way as when you were young. It'll be painful
to sit down, to stand, to walk. There will be all kinds of obstacles.
So now, before you grow old, you should accelerate your efforts
at developing goodness so that it will be a refuge for the heart
when old age comes. In other words, accelerate your efforts at practicing
the Dhamma and training the mind to find peace.

One of the Ten Recollections (anussati) taught by the
Buddha is recollection of death: When you see other people dying,
other animals dying, you should reflect on the fact that you will
have to die just like everyone else. Repeat the word maranam,maranam (death, death) in the mind and look at yourself:
you're going to have to die for sure. As you reflect maranam,
maranam, it may happen that as your mind grows still, a vision
of your own death will appear within you. If your mindfulness is
good and you have your wits about you, then the more clearly you
see death in this way, the more the mind will grow still with an
even greater sense of well being. As you watch death clearly, seeing
the body decay, concentration grows even stronger. If you visualize
death so that you can see it clearly, you'll realize that there's
nothing to be gained by growing attached to the body. When you see
the truth in this way, you'll see that your past greed for things
served no real purpose. The anger you've felt in the past: what
purpose did it serve? You'll see that greed, anger, and delusion
are stressful and serve no purpose — for ultimately, we'll have
to let go of everything that comes along with them. You'll see that
this sense of peace and ease in the mind is what serves a real purpose.
When the mind is at peace in this way, it doesn't want anything
else. All it wants is peace, and that's enough.

I'll tell you a story. It's time you listened to something light
for a change, so that you won't be so tense and grim. It's important
that you first let yourself relax. Once Ajaan Funn, my teacher,
was wandering through the forest in Baan Phyy district, Udorn Thani
province, and stopped to spend the night not far from a certain
village. He saw that it was a congenial place and so stayed on there
to practice meditation. A woman living in the village would often
come in the morning to give him alms, and then again in the evening
to hear his Dhamma talks. Ajaan Funn taught her to meditate, something
she had never done before. It so happened that she was afraid of
ghosts. Wherever she went, she was afraid of ghosts, and so she
never went anywhere alone. Especially at night, she was really afraid.
When Ajaan Funn taught her to meditate, she didn't want to, because
she was afraid that she'd see a corpse or a ghost. On following
days, Ajaan Funn asked her how her meditation was going, and she
couldn't answer him because she hadn't meditated. After a while
she began to feel embarrassed: "He keeps teaching me to meditate
and yet all I do is hold onto my fear of ghosts." So she decided,
"Whatever may happen, I'm going to meditate." So she started to
meditate.

At first she simply focused on repeating the word buddho
as she watched her breath come in and out. As her mind began to
relax, it began to drift a bit and a vision arose: she saw a corpse
lying stretched out in front of her. When she saw the corpse, she
began to feel afraid. Then the corpse moved in so that it was lying
on her lap. With the corpse on her lap, she couldn't get up to run
away. And that's when she remembered her buddho. She wanted
buddho to come and help her. So she kept thinking, buddho,
buddho, more and more intensely. As she was doing this, one
part of her mind was afraid, the other part kept recollecting
buddho, buddho, until the corpse disappeared from her lap and
turned into herself. That was when she had a vision of her chest
bursting wide open. Her heart was bright, very bright. In the brightness
of her heart she could see all kinds of things. She could see what
other people were thinking, what animals were thinking. She knew
all kinds of things and felt really amazed. From that point on her
fear of ghosts disappeared. Her heart grew peaceful and at ease.

The next day she went to see Ajaan Funn. Ajaan Funn was sick
with a fever, but he forced himself to get up to greet her and give
her a Dhamma talk, as he had on previous days, just as if he wasn't
sick at all. After the talk, she immediately said to him, "Than
Ajaan, your heart isn't bright and blooming at all. It looks withered
and dry. You must be very sick." Ajaan Funn was surprised: "How
does she know the state of my mind?" But he had noticed that her
manner was different from what it had been on previous days. She
was very composed and polite. She had bowed down very politely,
her words had been gentle and very respectful. When she commented
on his heart that way, he wondered: "Does she really know the state
of my mind?" So when she returned to the village, he forced himself
to sit and meditate to the point where the fever broke and went
away. His heart grew peaceful, bright, and at ease. The next day,
when the time came that the woman would come, he decided to play
sick in order to test her. When she arrived, he didn't get up to
greet her and stayed lying down as if he was sick. After she bowed
down, she sat to meditate for a moment, and then said, "Why, your
lotus" — meaning his heart — "your lotus is really blooming!" That
was when Ajaan Funn realized that she was really meditating well.

From that point on, she could come in the evening without the
slightest fear of ghosts or spirits. And she continued to meditate
well. Her mind never deteriorated. To tell the truth, she had never
studied in school and didn't know much of the Dhamma, but because
of her respect for Ajaan Funn, when he taught her to meditate she
followed his instructions. Whether it was because of her past merit
or what, I don't know, but she gained peace of mind, developed her
discernment, and was able to know her own heart and the hearts of
other people. So those of you who have come here to meditate: don't
underestimate yourselves, thinking that you won't gain anything
or come to any insights. Don't be so sure! If you keep up your efforts
and practice correctly, it might very well happen that you'll gain
insight. If things come together properly, the day will come when
you know, when you see the Dhamma. It could very well happen.

So keep up your efforts. After the retreat is over, when you
go back home, keep using your mindfulness to keep watch over yourself.
In your comings and goings, keep training your mindfulness as you
do while you're here, as a means of maintaining the state of your
mind through practicing restraint of the senses. This will develop
your mindfulness and give it power. That way, you'll find that things
go more smoothly when the time comes to train the mind to be still.

Are there any other questions?

Question:

I'm finding that my mind is beginning to settle down somewhat
in my meditation, and I'm surprised at the sense of comfort and
ease that comes when it does settle down.

Ajaan Suwat:

A sense of ease arises when there's peace and calm. Stress and
suffering arise when there's no peace and calm. These things always
go together. You can observe in yourself that whenever the mind
isn't at peace, when there's a lot of disturbance and turmoil, there's
a lot of stress and suffering as well. When there's only a little
disturbance, there's only a little stress and suffering. When there's
a lot of peace, there's a lot of ease. If you're observant, you'll
notice that wherever there's peace, there's also a sense of comfort
and ease.

You can compare it to a nation at peace, with no war, no strife,
no conflicts, no crime. That nation will have the sense of ease
that comes with being at peace. If a family lives in harmony, with
no quarreling, that family will have the sense of ease that comes
with being at peace. If the body is free from disease, strong enough
to be used for whatever work you want to do, it's called a body
at peace, and has the sense of ease that comes with being at peace.
If the mind isn't disturbed by the defilements that would put it
into a turmoil, it's at peace in line with its nature. Even nibbana
is peace — a peace that lasts and can never be disturbed. That's
why nibbana is the ultimate ease.

Question:

When I meditate and see the changes in my body and mind, there
seems to one part of the mind that's simply the observer, which
doesn't change along with the things it watches. When I catch sight
of this observer, this sense of awareness, what should I do next?

Ajaan Suwat:

One part of the mind is fabrication. As for this sense of awareness
itself, this is very important. We should try to know fabrications
in line with their true nature. These things are inconstant, and
so we should know their inconstancy. These things change and grow.
When they appear, we should know that they're appearing. When they
disappear, we should know that they're disappearing. When we know
the appearing and disappearing of fabrications, we'll realize: Before
we didn't understand fabrications, which was why we felt desire
for them. We thought they would make us happy. But fabrications
are inconstant. They arise and change in this way and so serve no
real purpose at all. We've struggled to acquire them for a long,
long time, but have never gained enough happiness from them to satisfy
our wants. But when we train the mind so that our sense of awareness
knows in this way, we gain a sense of peace, happiness, satisfaction.
This sense of happiness doesn't involve any struggle, doesn't depend
on anyone else at all. When we experience this sense of peace and
ease, we'll gain discernment and insight. We'll see the sense of
peace and ease coming when our discernment is wise to the nature
of fabrications and can cleanse the mind so that it feels no greed
for fabrications. The mind then becomes clean and pure.

Question:

Is this sense of awareness the self? Here we're taught that there
is no self, and so I'm confused.

Ajaan Suwat:

Don't be in a hurry to label this sense of awareness self
or not-self. The discernment that makes us aware of every
aspect of fabrication will tell us on its own in line with the truth.
It's the same as when you fix food. As you're fixing it, don't ask
what the taste is like or where it resides. At that moment you can't
tell where the taste is. But once you've fixed it and eaten it,
you'll know the taste and where it lies. In the same way, this issue
of self and not-self is very refined. When you've practiced until
you've reached that level, it'll be clear to you in the same way
that the taste of food is clear to you when it touches your tongue.
You know immediately, for the nature of these things is to know
on their own.

Our job at present is to know the process of fabrication as it
appears in the body and mind. We shouldn't let ourselves be deluded
by the fabrications of the body. We should know their true nature.
The same holds true with the mental fabrications, issues of good
and bad, that affect the mind: we shouldn't be deluded by them,
shouldn't fall for them. When we're wise to them and can't be fooled
by them, we'll gain the discernment that puts an end to suffering
and stress because we're no longer misled by what fabrication keeps
telling us.

For instance, when the eye sees a beautiful form, a form that
we've liked in the past, we tend to fall for it. We want it. This
greed of ours creates a disturbance, defiles the mind all over again.
When the ear hears a beautiful sound we've liked, that we've fallen
for in the past, the process of fabrication will make us like it
again. Greed arises, desire arises, the mind gets disturbed all
over again. When a good smell comes into the nose, we fall for it.
When the tongue touches a flavor we like, we fall for it again.
When our mindfulness and alertness aren't up on what's happening,
we like these things. We fall for them. We search for them. This
is what gives rise to craving in the mind: the origination of suffering
and stress. And so we suffer.

For this reason, our discernment has to be fully aware of this
aspect of fabrication as well. Once discernment is trained, then
when we see a form, hear a sound, smell an aroma, taste a flavor,
we can recall that these things are fabrications. They're inconstant.
When fabrication is inconstant, the pleasure that comes from fabrication
is undependable. We shouldn't get carried away by the pleasures
that come from those fabrications. Otherwise, when they change,
we'll keep experiencing pain again and again until those fabrications
have disappeared. When they disappear, we struggle to gain them
again, come into conflict with other people again, fall out with
them, quarrel with them, develop animosities, develop bad kamma
with them — all because we've fallen for fabrications. So we have
to reflect on the fact that fabrications are inconstant. We shouldn't
latch onto them, grow attached to them, or fall for them so much.

Question:

Just now while I was meditating I had this feeling that the body
was simply sitting there on its own, breathing all on its own, and
the mind seemed to be something separate. It separated out for a
moment, and then came back into the body. When the mind separates
out in this way, is it the first step in contemplating the body?

Ajaan Suwat:

There wasn't any pain, was there?

Question:

No, no pain at all. It was as if the body didn't have to rely
on the mind. It kept breathing on its own, while the mind was something
separate.

Ajaan Suwat:

That's because your mindfulness was good. You weren't holding
onto the body. You were able to let go, so that feelings weren't
making contact with the mind. This is the way it always is with
a quiet mind. A quiet mind like this is a really good thing to have.
This is why monks out meditating in the forest, when they grow sick,
don't suffer, and can instead find a great deal of bliss. They take
their illness as a means of developing mindfulness, reminding themselves
that it's not-self, and so they shouldn't latch onto it. The mind
is the mind; the feeling is not-self. When you repeat the notion,
not-self, not-self, and then investigate the feeling, taking
it apart, you can keep investigating until the mind grows quiet
and at ease, with no suffering at all. The body grows light. The
mind grows light, with a great deal of happiness. You begin to marvel
and gain conviction in the practice, because you've seen a happiness
that has arisen from within your very own heart. Suffering stops,
even though the body may still be sick.

So we should keep making an effort at training the mind, using
various techniques to look after it so that it'll settle down and
be still. That way we'll gain the strength that will help us when
pain and discomfort arise in the heart. We'll have our hideout —
for when we stay with this sense of stillness, we'll have an excellent
hideout from danger.

When meditators go wandering through the forest, their teachers
usually have them stay in places that are scary. If there's a place
where tigers are known to frequent, the teachers will have their
students go stay there. There are cases where meditators have gained
mindfulness, gained concentration, gained rapture and ease, all
from their fear of being eaten by tigers. But you have to be brave.
Even though you may be afraid, you have to be brave at the same
time. If you're simply afraid and run away instead of meditating,
it won't accomplish anything. There are quite a few meditation masters
who, when they heard tigers closing in on them at night, grew so
afraid that they couldn't bear it. There was no way for them to
escape, because it was nighttime, and they were staying in a place
where...

... In the frames of reference that we're practicing, we're taught
to reflect on the food we eat, the other necessities of life we
use, to see that they're simply things for us to depend on for a
short while. Don't grow attached to them. You can choose the things
you buy and store up for your use, but the mind should keep reflecting
that they fall under the Three Characteristics. They're uncertain.
When we want to use these things for our benefit, we should look
after them, but we shouldn't let ourselves suffer when they deteriorate
and change.

Question:

Sometimes, when I'm meditating to relax and settle the mind,
the desire for results gets in the way. What should I do to keep
my intention pure so that desire doesn't become an obstacle?

Ajaan Suwat:

This desire is a form of craving. It really is an obstacle. Craving
is something the Buddha taught us to abandon. If the desire serves
a purpose, you should go ahead and desire. But if it doesn't, you
should focus on what will get results. In other words, you
should act without desire. Even when there's no desire, you can
still act. You want to gain awareness, of course, so the task in
front of you is to focus your awareness on a single object. When
your meditation object appears to your awareness, you should focus
on staying there with it in a single spot. As you stay there longer
and longer, the mind will grow still and refined, all on its own.
That's because stillness comes from being mindful — simply from
being mindful without lapses of forgetfulness — and not from desire.

Tell yourself: this is a task you have to do with mindfulness,
discernment, and correct awareness. You don't have to depend on
desire. When you do the work correctly, the results will come on
their own.

Question:

When doubts arise in the mind, are they of any help in the practice?

Ajaan Suwat:

As long as the level of discernment called ñana-dassana
— knowledge and vision — hasn't yet arisen within us, all of us
are bound to have doubts. But if we simply sit there doubting, it
doesn't serve any purpose. When doubts arise, we should study and
practice so as to give rise to knowledge. If we can't give rise
to knowledge on our own, we should go ask those who know, teachers
with correct knowledge. If we practice correctly, the things we
wonder about will appear, and that will be the end of our doubts.
For instance, the questions you're asking are all an affair of doubt.
When you get a correct answer, you gain knowledge that helps unravel
your doubts — and in this way doubts serve a purpose, in that getting
answers to your questions can resolve your doubts on some levels.

Question:

Suppose that the Thai government tried to change the religion
in the country and began to oppress Buddhist monks or to drive them
out of the country. Would the monks resist — should they
resist — if the government were to oppress the monks in Thailand?

Ajaan Suwat:

One of the basic principles laid down by the Buddha is that monks
shouldn't get involved in politics. They should focus instead on
the practice, exercising restraint over their words and actions
so as to stay within the correct bounds of the Dhamma and the precepts.
As long as the monks practice properly, there are people who will
be inspired by them and who will respect them. The people who respect
them would resist of their own free will — the monks wouldn't have
to resist.

Even if people with no religion were to take over the government
or were to gain the power to oppress the monks and people at large,
they'd be able to hold power only temporarily — because the type
of power that knows no religion or morality, that would govern in
an unfair way, can't really maintain peace and order in a country.
There are ideologies that, when they take over the government, give
no freedom to the people, don't allow them to practice religion
or to hold other beliefs. And as we've seen, they can stay in power
only temporarily. As time passes, the people get rid of them, push
them out. We can see this clearly at present: in almost every country
where unfair ideologies are in power, people are demanding the freedoms
that we have here in America, where the government gives weight
to human rights and where the people are pleased with this system.

Suppose that some groups were to try to change this system. The
vast majority of the people wouldn't go along with them for sure.
In the same way, ninety percent of the people in Thailand are Buddhist.
If the government showed no respect for Buddhism, the people wouldn't
go along with it for sure. There have been times in the past when
the government thought somewhat along those lines, but they never
succeeded, because the majority of the people didn't go along with
them. The current king is widely loved and respected because of
his reputation for developing the country and helping the people
in the proper way. He holds fast to Buddhist principles, both in
his own personal behavior and in his dealings with the people. For
this reason, the power of the Buddha's teachings is still deeply
embedded in the hearts of the Thai people. They are deeply appreciative
of the fact that the king respects the Buddha's teachings and practices
in line with them, strictly observing the precepts and staying firmly
established in the practice of meditation.

Question:

In light of the precept against killing, what does Buddhism have
to say about having armed forces to protect the nation?

Ajaan Suwat:

This sort of thing is an affair of the world. There have been
armed forces since time immemorial. When the Buddha was alive, there
were battles, police forces, armies, governments, just like today.
The Buddha taught only the people who were able to practice his
teachings. Armed forces and so forth are a necessary part of having
a society, which is why we don't get involved in them.

Question:

Under the first precept, if someone comes to kill us or to kill
members of our family, do we have the right to fight back?

Ajaan Suwat:

In cases like that you have the right to use your intelligence,
to figure out what will work so that you and your family will escape
from danger, and then you can fight in self-defense. But if you're
ordained as a monk, you try to avoid fighting in that way. The Buddha
saw the danger that lies in harming and killing one another, and
so he laid down the principles that will prevent these things from
happening in the first place — in other words, by observing the
five precepts. When we don't harm other people, don't kill them,
the good kamma coming from that will give results: i.e., other people
won't harm or kill us, either.

This is why the Buddha started out teaching these basic principles
— the five precepts — to lay people, so as to release them from
this sort of thing.

Question:

When we see injustice in our country — as in the problem of the
homeless that we see all around us in America — do we have the duty
to fight that injustice?

Ajaan Suwat:

One of the basic principles of the Buddha's teachings is attahi
attano natho — you should make yourself your own mainstay. The
Buddha taught people to help themselves. When you're born as a human
being, you can't abandon your duties. You have to make an effort.
Our parents all raised us so that we know how to take care of ourselves,
so that we'll understand the drawbacks of laziness, of not going
to school; they taught us to study so as to gain knowledge and then
find work to do so that we can depend on ourselves and not go looking
for help from others.

Question:

But when we see their suffering, when we see the injustices they're
subjected to, don't we have to help them?

Ajaan Suwat:

The injustice is when we expect to depend on other people to
do our work for us.

Question:

But these homeless people are poor because they've been treated
unjustly by society.

Ajaan Suwat:

This is a very subtle matter, dealing with the question of where
we should look to for justice. If we're able to work, so that we
have a place to live and food to eat, what more should we expect
from other people? If everyone were to observe the five precepts,
there would be no injustice.

Question:

Suppose that in Thailand the government didn't oppress monks,
but cruelly oppressed the general populace instead. If the monks
were to see the sufferings of the people, would they have any duty
to help them?

Ajaan Suwat:

The issues of the monks' life are very subtle. The Buddha laid
down rules forbidding us from even talking about these things, so
I'd rather not go into these matters in detail. My main concern
is what I can do so that you can depend on yourselves to attain
peace and happiness of mind. That's what concerns me: how each of
us can learn how to depend on ourselves, so that our minds are solid
and don't waver in line with events, so that we can look after ourselves
in a way that allows us to escape the dangers of the sufferings
arising within us. Every person has suffering, and every person
is only one person. There's nobody who's two. If each of us
looks after our one person, without oppressing anyone or harming
anyone, there would be no problems. The problem is that we don't
look after ourselves, and expect help to come from outside. That
means that we abandon our responsibilities, and that's why there's
injustice in the world — oppression, corruption, inequality. If
every person were to listen to the Buddha's teachings and be responsible
for him or herself, we'd see that everyone else is just like us.
If we curse them, they'll curse us back. If we show them respect,
they'll show us respect in return. This is why we shouldn't oppress
them or harm them. We should treat them with justice, because if
there are things that we don't like having done to us and yet we
go do them to other people, it creates dangers for ourselves. When
we can see these dangers, we should look after our own behavior.
Then these dangers won't exist. This is the basic principle at which
the Buddha's teachings aim. And this is why monks are not involved
with worldly affairs. We have to study this principle until we understand
it, and that way there will be no oppression.

Question:

I have two questions about rebirth. The first is: what is it
that gets reborn?

Ajaan Suwat:

When you were born, do you know what it was that got born?

Question:

No.

Ajaan Suwat:

If you don't know, how is it that you were still able to be born?
What led you to be born?

(A moment of dead silence)

Question:

My second question has to do with channeling spirits. There seem
to be a lot of people in America who are interested in contacting
spirits, to the point where books have been written, giving advice
on how to get in touch with spirits in this way. What does Buddhism
have to say about this?

Ajaan Suwat:

Buddhism for the most part teaches us to be mindful so as to
get in touch with ourselves. This is because the unawareness
(avijja) that gives rise to fabrication and suffering is an
unawareness concerning our own minds, and it lies within our own
minds, too. So Buddhism teaches us to learn about our own minds,
and not to get involved with spirits or people who channel spirits,
because that sort of thing doesn't serve any purpose, can't help
us give rise to the awareness that will put an end to our defilements.

Question:

When I leave meditation and go walking outside or have work to
do, I sometimes have to use a lot of thought. How can I be mindful
and think at the same time? Where should I focus mindfulness? What
techniques do you recommend?

Ajaan Suwat:

When we begin meditating we want mindfulness so that it'll keep
our body and mind still and at peace, but the body has to keep changing
positions — sitting, walking, lying down. The way to practice, given
in the Maha-satipatthana Sutta, is that when we sit, we're alert
to how we're sitting. When we walk, we're alert to the fact that
we're walking, and we walk in a composed way. Don't let the mind
be mindful of anything outside its proper bounds. Keep it within
bounds, i.e., within the body. Be alert to the way you step, place
your foot, all your various movements. If you can stay aware of
these things, you're on the right path. Or if you don't focus on
the body, focus on the mind. Be alert to whatever mood or preoccupation
is arising in the present. Love? Hatred? Is it focused on visual
objects? Tastes? The past? The future? Then notice which preoccupations
serve no purpose, and tell yourself not to focus on things that
serve no purpose. Focus only on things that do serve a purpose.
When the mind settles down, be alert to the fact. Give yourself
a sense of pleasure, satisfaction, and peace in the present. When
you do this, you're practicing in line with the Maha-satipatthana
Sutta as a way of training your mind to gain concentration. Then
when you sit in meditation, focus the mind on more refined levels
of stillness — for the sitting posture allows you to be less concerned
about keeping the body in position. When you're standing or walking,
you have to pay more attention to maintaining your posture.

I've had some practice in developing good will and loving-kindness,
but I don't know how to develop sympathetic joy. Do you have any
suggestions?

Ajaan Suwat:

Sympathetic joy is a feeling of happiness at the good fortune
of others. When other people are happy or gain wealth, we wish them
well. We aren't jealous or envious of them. This is a quality we
develop to get rid of the defilement of envy. When other people
gain good fortune, we practice feeling happy for them. If we suffer
from the defilement of envy, we can't stand to see other people
doing well in life. We get jealous because we feel we're better
than they are. This is why the Buddha taught us to develop sympathetic
joy.

Question:

Is there any technique for developing sympathetic joy?

Ajaan Suwat:

The technique is to spread this thought to people in general:
"If anyone is suffering, may they experience happiness. As for people
experiencing happiness, may they maintain that happiness. May they
not be deprived of the good fortune they've gained, the wealth they've
gained, the status they've gained, the praise they've gained, the
happiness they've gained. May their happiness increase." We're not
jealous of their happiness and we don't try to compete with them
in underhanded ways. The Buddha's purpose in teaching sympathetic
joy is so that our minds won't be consumed with envy over other
people's good fortune. When we feel no envy toward others and can
train our hearts to reach stillness using this theme as our preoccupation,
then we've completed our training in sympathetic joy. The phrase
we repeat when we chant every day — "May all living beings not be
deprived of the good fortune they have attained" — that's
sympathetic joy.

Question:

When I meditate on my breath, I notice that at the end of the
in-breath there's a brief rest. The same thing happens at the end
of the out-breath. As time passes, this momentary rest grows longer
and longer, and is very comfortable. Is this the right way to practice?

Ajaan Suwat:

When we're mindful, we get to see things we've never seen before,
we experience things we've never experienced before, in a way that
we'll never forget. A mind that has never experienced peace and
stillness will come to experience peace and stillness. A mind that's
never been aware will come to be aware. This is part of correctly
following the right path: you begin by getting the mind to enter
a subtle level of concentration. You should continue what you're
doing, but don't get complacent. If your concentration isn't yet
solid, it can deteriorate. So you should tend to the mind that's
at stillness and keep it there. Remember how you got it there. Keep
practicing continually, and you'll find that there are even more
refined levels of the still mind. There are levels even more refined
and pleasurable than this. So don't content yourself with stopping
just there. See if you can make the stillness and sense of comfort
even more refined.

It's like walking up the stairs to your house. The stairs have
five steps: the five levels of jhana. The first time the mind reaches
a subtle level of stillness is the first step. When you haven't
yet started climbing the stairs, you should content yourself with
getting to the first step. But when you've reached the first step,
you should content yourself simply with the fact that you've gotten
up off the ground and stop right there — for the first step isn't
your house. So you should remind yourself of the fact that it's
not your house, you haven't yet reached shelter, and then look for
the second step. When you've reached the second step, you should
remind yourself that you still haven't reached shelter, so you have
to take the next step.

In the same way, when you've reached a subtle level of stillness
and experienced just this level of pleasure and ease, you should
ponder this ease to see that it's not yet constant. It can still
change. There are still higher levels of ease. Today you've gotten
this far; the next step will be to keep moving up until you reach
genuine ease.

What I've explained so far should be enough for today. Talking
a lot can get you confused, for you're still new to this training.
Your memory can handle only so much. Like students just beginning
their studies: if they study a lot of advanced material and stuff
it into their brains, it won't all stay there.

It's the same when we practice meditation. Your mindfulness and
discernment can take only so much. Listen to just a little bit and
then put it into practice, so as to strengthen your mindfulness
and discernment, so as to strengthen your concentration. In that
way you'll be able to take in more refined levels of Dhamma. At
this stage I want you to stop listening and to go back to look at
your mind: is it willing to accept the training? Is it able to follow
it? Or is it still stubborn? If the mind isn't yet willing to accept
and follow the training, reason with it until it is. Get the mind
to reach what you've been hearing about, so that it sees the results
clearly within itself. Your knowledge on this level isn't knowledge
from the mind. It's knowledge from concepts. As for the mind, it
hasn't yet taken these things in. If, when you meditate, you find
that your mind is still restless and distracted, unwilling to do
what you want it to do, that's a sign that it hasn't yet accepted
the teachings. So you have to reason with it over and over again.

If, on the other hand, you can remember only one concept but
can train the mind so that it can take in the truth of that concept,
then learning about concepts serves a purpose. If the mind isn't
willing to take in the truth of that concept, then knowing concepts
doesn't serve any purpose.

I was wondering if you could explain inconstancy and the emptiness
of the mind.

Ajaan Suwat:

Inconstancy is one of the three characteristics, a teaching on
the level of insight and discernment.

The word inconstancy (anicca), for the most part, is used
in connection with fabrications (sankhara): sankhara anicca
— fabrications are inconstant. The word "fabrications" here carries
a very broad meaning on the level of theoretical Dhamma, but in
terms of the practice for giving rise to discernment, "fabrications"
means the body and mind. So while you listen to this talk on inconstancy,
focus your attention on your own body, for it's something easy to
know and to see. Then I'll explain the changes and inconstancy in
it.

What is the purpose of studying inconstancy? This is something
we should look into. Studying inconstancy has many benefits. In
particular, the Buddha taught us to be mindful of the body, mindful
of the fact that once the body is born it has to keep changing day
in and day out. The happiness and pleasures we get from the body
on a daily basis are inconstant. If they were constant, we wouldn't
have to look for happiness and pleasure anywhere else. But the fact
is that the pleasure we have, as soon as we've experienced it for
a while, gives out — regardless of what kind of pleasure it is.
This is why the Buddha says it's inconstant: it requires us to stir
ourselves to search, to store things up.

The things we stir ourselves to search for: if we gain things
that are good, that we like, we get possessive. And when there are
things we love and like, other people like them, too. Many people
who see what we have will want it as well. This gives rise to competition,
to cheating and swindling, as people try to get what they want.
From this comes hatred, animosity, and vengeance. This shows the
inconstancy within the body, the constant changes in the happiness
we want. The mind suffers negative impacts from the pleasure and
pain that are such a confusing turmoil within it.

When we realize this truth, the Buddha taught us to develop the
discernment needed to comprehend it. And he laid down another principle:
Natthi santi param sukham — there is no happiness higher
than peace. The peace here is peace in the Dhamma, the peace that
comes from practicing the Dhamma. He pointed out that peace is the
highest happiness and showed us the path to that peace, which we're
practicing right now: developing tranquillity and insight, exercising
restraint over our words and deeds, and training our mind.

So we should turn in to look at ourselves. When we understand
that the body and the pleasures we experience are inconstant, the
mind state that used to feel attachment, that used to deceive itself
into thinking that it was in possession of happiness... We try to
change things so that our pleasure will be constant. We don't see
the drawbacks of the suffering we've been through. Delusion and
misunderstanding thus arise in the mind that hasn't seen the peace
offering a happiness more subtle and refined than what we're generally
used to. This is why we have to depend on the Dhamma, depend on
our conviction in the Buddha. If we look at the fabrications that
the Buddha said are inconstant and stressful, we'll see that what
he said is really true. The pleasures we've experienced don't really
suffice. We have to study, to look for knowledge, to find a refuge
more dependable than what we've known. This is why we have to depend
on the teachings of the Buddha. When we've heard them, we train
our minds to be still, to let go. We have to give ourselves the
opportunity to make our minds empty and still.

When we say the mind is empty, that means that it's disengaged.
It's not restless and distracted. It doesn't have a lot of preoccupations.
The same as when we do demanding work: if we keep at it a lot, the
body gets tired. When it's tired, we disengage it from the work.
We sit down or lie down to rest. When it has rested at normalcy,
the tiredness goes away. We regain our strength. When we've regained
our strength, we can resume our work. We see that working uses up
energy. When our energy is used up, resting gathers energy. The
resting is part of the pleasure and ease that comes when the body
is "empty": in other words, disengaged from its work.

It's the same with the mind. We look for happiness all the time
because we want precisely this sense of ease. When the mind isn't
empty and disengaged, we keep looking. We should train the mind
to be still. When the mind is still, here in this sense of awareness
itself, it's empty and disengaged. It's not thinking about anything.
It's empty through its stillness. But we can't keep it empty and
still like this all the time. We still have our clinging-aggregates.
We still have our eyes, and the mind wants to see things. We still
have our ears, nose, tongue, and body. There are still sounds, smells,
tastes, and tactile sensations. We still have feelings of pleasure
and pain. These things are always disturbing us. So this is why
the Buddha teaches us, once we've gotten the mind to settle down
and be still, to contemplate the inconstancy of the body. That way
we'll come to understand that the body is really inconstant and
stressful. As long as we're still attached to the body as "me" or
"mine," we'll have to suffer from aging, illness, and death at all
times.

So we should let go of these things and hold onto the Dhamma,
making the mind still. That way we'll give rise to stillness and
ease. We'll see that the body is inconstant, aging and wasting away;
that stress and suffering arise because of this inconstancy. Ultimately
the whole body falls apart. When it falls apart, what is it like?
It grows putrid and decays. It doesn't belong to anyone. This is
why the Buddha taught us to yathabhutam sammappaññaya datthabbam:
to see things as they are with right discernment, to let them go,
to have no attachment to the aggregates, not to view them as self.
When this is the case, the mind won't feel any greed, for it sees
that greed serves no purpose. When we've seen this truth, the angers
we've felt in the past will grow weaker. Knowledge will arise in
the place of our past delusions. When the mind contemplates and
develops discernment to the point where it's able once and for all
to make itself pure, totally abandoning the defilements of greed,
anger, and delusion — or passion, aversion, and delusion — then
that's called a mind truly empty: empty of defilement, empty of
greed, anger, and delusion, because it's no longer carrying anything
around. If you carry things, they're heavy. They defile the mind.
If you don't hold on and carry them, the mind is empty. Pure. It
doesn't have to look for anything ever again.

This emptiness of the mind comes from our understanding inconstancy.
So if you aspire to this emptiness, you should contemplate inconstancy
to see it clearly, to make your discernment alert and wise to the
truth. The mind — whose defilements depend on inconstant things
to give rise to greed, anger, and delusion — won't be able to give
rise to them any more, because it's grown disenchanted. It doesn't
want them. It will grow empty and enter into stillness. The mind
is empty because its defilements are gone.

To summarize: the three characteristics of inconstancy, stress,
and not-self exist only in the mind with defilements. When the mind
has the discernment to kill off the defilements for good, there's
nothing inconstant, stressful, or not-self within it. That's why
it's empty. As for our minds, at present they're not empty
because they haven't been able to chase the defilements all out.
Even though we're able to develop mindfulness and meditate to the
point where we experience stillness and ease, that's only a little
bit of temporary emptiness. As soon as mindfulness lapses, things
come in to disturb us all over again. That's because we're not empty
of defilement.

The ultimate defilement is unawareness. Every defilement,
whether blatant, moderate, or subtle, has unawareness mixed in with
it. This is why the Buddha taught us to train our minds to give
rise to awareness, the opponent of unawareness. Whichever side is
stronger will win out and hold power over the mind. If awareness
wins out, the defilements have no place to stay. If unawareness
wins out, there's no peace and ease. No purity. The mind isn't empty.
Stress and suffering arise.

To know the unawareness already in the mind is awfully difficult.
It's like using darkness to illuminate darkness: you can't see anything.
Or like two blind people leading each other along: they'll have
a hard time escaping from dangers and reaching their goal. This
is why we have to depend on people with good eyes: in other words,
mindfulness and discernment. These are the crucial factors that
will lead us to the end of the path.

An example of how we can put mindfulness to use: suppose we aren't
yet acquainted with anicca. We don't know where it is. When
we hear that anicca refers to the inconstancy of the five
aggregates, beginning with physical form, we apply mindfulness to
keeping these things in mind, to see if they really are inconstant.
Or suppose we feel that we gain pleasure from holding onto the body
as our self; we keep on providing for it and fixing it, so that
we don't see its stress and inconstancy. In this way we've gone
astray from the Buddha's teachings. So we use mindfulness to keep
the body in mind. For example, we're mindful of hair. Is our hair
constant? Does it always stay the same, or not? Think of the first
strand of hair that grew on your head. It was cut off long ago.
The hair we have now is new hair. It keeps changing. The first strand
of hair no longer serves us any purpose. We don't even know where
it's gone. This is one way of contemplating inconstancy.

As for anatta, or not-self: The hair that, in the past,
we thought was ours — where is it now? If we think in this way we'll
come to understand the teaching on not-self. If we contemplate the
things that the Buddha said are not-self, we'll see that what he
said is absolutely true. We'll see the truth, and our own mind is
what sees the truth in line with what the Buddha said: our body
doesn't have any essence; it just keeps sloughing away. And as for
what he said about the body's being unclean: when it dies, no one
can dress it up to make it really clean. As soon as it falls down
dead, everyone detests it. When we reflect more and more profoundly
on this, the mind will come to accept that what the Buddha taught
is the genuine truth. When the mind accepts this, its ignorance
will gradually disappear. Discernment — knowledge in line with the
Buddha's teachings — will gradually take shape in our minds.

So when the mind contemplates hair profoundly until it knows
the truth and its ignorance disappears, knowledge — beginning with
knowledge about the true nature of our hair — will arise. The unawareness
with which we clung to the hair as us or ours, seeing it as beautiful,
dressing it up with perfumes, making it lovely and attractive: we'll
see that all that was an act of self-delusion. If the true nature
of these things was really good, we wouldn't have to do any of that,
for it would already be good. It's because it's not good that we
have to make it good. That's one way in which our own views have
deluded us. The Buddha told us to know the truth of this matter
so that the mind will be able to let go. When the mind lets go,
all its defilements lighten and disappear because our views are
right. Defilements arise because of wrong views, because of ignorance
or unawareness of the truth. Ignorance gives rise to delusion and
mistaken assumptions, which turn into wrong views. This is why we
have to make an effort to give rise to awareness.

For example: suppose we aren't aware that the hair, nails, teeth,
skin, flesh, tendons, bones in our body are composed of the properties
of earth, water, wind, and fire. Actually, this physical form of
ours is nothing more than the four properties. The water property
includes all the liquid parts of the body, such as bile, phlegm,
lymph, mucus, urine, blood, fat, oil. The earth property includes
all the hard and solid parts, such as hair of the head, hair of
the body, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, tendons, bones, bone marrow,
etc. The wind property includes the breath, the breath energy in
the stomach, the energy that rises up in the body, the energy that
goes down, the energy that flows all over the body. The fire property
includes the warmth that keeps the body from decaying, the warmth
that helps with the digestion, and the warmth that keeps the body
alive at the right temperature. Altogether, the body is nothing
but these four properties. When we don't realize this, that's called
unawareness. We aren't acquainted with the body, the aggregates.
When we learn about this, awareness can begin to arise.

This is why we're taught to contemplate the parts of the body:
kesa, hair of the head; loma, hair of the body;
nakha, nails; danta, teeth; taco, skin. New monks
are taught these things from the very day of their ordination so
that they can eliminate unawareness and give rise to awareness through
the light of mindfulness and discernment. I ask that you develop
a lot of mindfulness and discernment in this area so that your minds
will reach the emptiness and freedom you want.

Discernment here means the awareness that comes from studying
the five aggregates. No other knowledge can destroy this defilement
of unawareness. So when you want to destroy the defilement of unawareness,
you have to carefully study the five aggregates, beginning with
the body, until you see the four noble truths right here in the
five aggregates. Actually, the five aggregates are things whose
true nature is well within our power to study and know. First there's
the aggregate of form, or the physical body. Then there are the
mental aggregates: feeling, perception, mental fabrications, and
consciousness. These are things we can know. We have to study and
practice so that we can know all four of these mental aggregates
in line with their true nature. Each of these aggregates covers
a lot of aspects. For instance, physical form: yankinci rupam
atitanagata-paccuppannam ajjhattam va bahiddha va — there are
all kinds of forms that can fool and delude us: internal and external;
blatant and subtle; past, present, and future. But when insight
arises in full strength, it'll show us the way to see without much
difficulty. All that's needed is that you first start with the basic
meditation themes, such as the hair of the head, and see them clearly
in line with their nature. Then discernment will gradually arise.

Do you understand this? You can say that the Dhamma is subtle,
but you can also say that it's right here within us, within our
own bodies. All the things I've discussed here: when you haven't
yet put them into practice but would like to see these truths, you
shouldn't let mindfulness wander outside the body. Contemplate things
in line with their true nature. Don't let prejudice get in the way.
Remind yourself that this is the Dhamma.

That's enough explanation for now. When you study things but
don't put them into practice, your knowledge doesn't get you anywhere.
So now that you know the path, I'd like you to focus your intention
on practicing a lot. I'll ask to stop here so that you can put your
knowledge into practice and benefit from it.

When meditators' minds have reached genuine happiness in the
Dhamma through their mindfulness and discernment, clearly seeing
the four noble truths, none of them — not one — will revert to looking
for happiness in the world or in material things. That's because
happiness in the Dhamma is a lasting happiness: solid, refined,
and genuinely pure. If you compare worldly happiness with the happiness
of the Dhamma, you'll see that there's not even the least real happiness
to it. It offers nothing but stress, nothing but drawbacks. So why
do we think it's happiness? Because we're burning with pain. We
look to worldly happiness and pleasures to relieve the pain, which
then goes away for a while but then comes back again.

For instance, the Buddha said that birth is stress, but ordinary
people regard it as something happy. We don't see that stress and
pain involved. Yet once the mind has reached the happiness of the
Dhamma, it can see that birth is really stressful, just as the Buddha
said. The reason we have to look after ourselves, take care of ourselves,
and still can't find any peace, is because these things that have
been born come to disturb us. We sit down and get some pleasure
and ease from sitting down, but after a while it becomes painful.
We say that it's pleasant to lie down, but that's true only at the
very beginning. After we've lain down for a long time, it begins
to get unpleasant. So we have to keep changing postures in order
to gain pleasure. We look for this thing or that, but as soon as
we've gained just a little pleasure from them, stress and pain come
in their wake. If we have a family and home to live pleasantly together,
there are only little pleasures, which have us fooled and deceived,
while there are hundreds and thousands of unpleasant things. The
happiness and pleasure that come from external things, material
things, is never enough. It keeps wearing away, wearing away, and
wearing us out, to no purpose at all. This is why those who have
reached the Dhamma don't return to this world so filled with sorrows
and turmoil.

And this is why I want you to put an effort into meditating,
contemplating in line with the Dhamma. Even if you aren't yet convinced
of the Dhamma, at least take the teachings of the Buddha as your
working principles. For example, when the Buddha teaches about the
Three Characteristics of inconstancy, stress, and not-self, we should
train our minds to see in line with what he said. Give him a try.
For example, he says that this body of ours is filled with all sorts
of unclean things. We may not agree, but at least give it a try
to see what happens when you look at things in line with what he
says. He says it's not clean. Atthi imasmim kaye — in this
body there is: hair of the head, and it's not clean; hair of the
body, and it's unclean; nails, and they're not clean. Don't be in
a hurry to reject the Buddha's teachings. Take a look to see whether
these things really are unclean or not. When the mind focuses on
these things more and more steadily, and begins to feel quiet and
at ease, the truth of these things will gradually appear more and
more clearly. Conviction in the Dhamma, in the practice, will arise.
Energy will arise as we want to see more. As this awareness grows
greater, the mind will grow more luminous and still. This is the
way of the practice. When you go back home, remember this simple
principle: practice meditation by observing your body, observing
your mind.

Use your mindfulness to keep track of the body in and of itself,
so as to know it in line with its truth. If you don't look at the
body, then look at the mind in and of itself. When you observe the
movements of the body and mind, the pleasures and pains that arise
so often, you'll develop awareness and skill. You'll learn how to
handle things in line with the Buddha's teachings. You'll gain the
discernment that sees and knows the truth. You'll see things more
and more clearly. The more clearly you see things, the stronger
and more quiet the mind will grow. You'll see the body as stressful
and unclean, but you'll have to look after the mind, keeping yourself
wise to the fact that the stress and uncleanliness are an affair
of the body, not of the mind.

The body has been unclean all along. We've lived with it all
this time, so there's no need to be afraid of seeing these things,
no need to reject them. We should contemplate the body so as to
give rise to a sense of chastened dispassion. When you let go of
the body, let go in a discerning way. Don't let go in a way in which
delusion and misunderstanding overcome the mind. Don't get disgusted
with the body so that the mind becomes restless and agitated and
stops meditating. That kind of dislike is wrong. When we look at
things we don't like — such as the inconstancy, the stressfulness,
and the unattractiveness of the body — remember that they're part
of the noble truths. The Buddha said that they're very beneficial.
Contemplating the unattractiveness of the body is very beneficial
because it serves an important purpose. If we see the body properly
in this way, it helps the mind grow still with a sense of disenchantment.
And that's what will cure our delusions and misunderstandings. This
is why, when ordaining a monk, the very first step is to teach him
the five meditation themes — kesa, hair of the head; loma,
hair of the body; nakha, nails; danta, teeth; taco,
skin — as a way of developing discernment and knowledge of the truth.

So hold onto these themes and keep contemplating them, regardless
of whether the mind is still or not. Whenever you have any free
time, contemplate them. You can contemplate them even while you're
working. Contemplate them until you get down to the minute details
in a way that gives rise to a sense of stillness and ease.

It's similar to when we do physical work. We get wages for each
hour we work. The more hours we work, the higher our pay. But if
you get greedy and keep working without rest, then the body wears
out, the mind grows weak, and you can't work any more. So you have
to rest and eat to regain the strength of your body and nerves.
Even though you don't get paid for the time you rest, you're willing
to take the loss for the sake of your strength of body and mind,
so that you can contend with the work after you've rested.

It's the same when you meditate: if you just keep contemplating
and investigating, it won't be long before the mind gets restless
and agitated. So you have to bring the mind to stillness to avoid
its getting restless. If it gets restless, it'll have no peace.
It'll get all tied up in knots and will grow weary of the meditation.
So contemplate for a while until you can sense that the mind wants
to stop and rest; then focus back on the in-and-out breath or anything
else that will serve as a gathering point for the mind. Gradually
let go of your contemplation, gradually let the mind settle down,
so as to gain strength from the sense of pleasure and ease that
come in this way. Don't worry about how long you should stay there.
Even though the mind doesn't seem to be gaining any knowledge, don't
worry about it. It's as when you're resting from physical labor:
even though your boss doesn't give you anything for the hour you
rest, you're willing for the sake of gaining energy — in this case,
strength of mind.

This is why the Noble Disciples constantly practice concentration,
constantly get the mind to settle down. After they're contemplated
to the point where the mind gets weary, they let the mind grow still.
After it's had enough stillness, they go back to their contemplation.
This is how we should practice. If we practice in this way, the
mind will gain energy and strength, will gain discernment to the
end point of all suffering and stress, seeing things for what they
actually are. The question asked the other day — how to practice
when you go back home — was a very good question. The answer is:
keep looking after your mind in the way I've described here. Practice
exercising your own mindfulness and discernment.

You've spoken of the five topics that should be contemplated
every day: that we're subject to aging, subject to illness, subject
to death, subject to separation from the things and people we love,
and that we're the owners of our karma. This fifth topic is the
most difficult of the five to understand. I was wondering if you
could explain karma, and in particular the role of mindfulness at
the moment of death.

Ajaan Suwat:

Listen carefully. I'm going to explain the karma in line with
the principles the Buddha's Awakening. When the Buddha explained
karma, he did so in line with one of the knowledges he attained
on the night of his Awakening: recollection of past lives. In becoming
the Buddha, it wasn't the case that he had been born only once and
had practiced only one lifetime before attaining Awakening. He had
been developing his goodness, his perfections, for many lifetimes.
That was how he had been able to build up his discernment continually
over the course of time to the point where he could awaken to the
subtle Dhamma so hard for anyone to recollect, so hard for anyone
to awaken to. He had been developing his mindfulness until it was
fully powerful, his discernment until it was fully powerful, so
that he could come to know the truth. For this reason, our understanding
of karma has to depend both on our study and on our practice, training
our own minds as the Buddha did so as to gain discernment step by
step.

When the Buddha spoke about karma after his Awakening to the
truth, he was referring to action. There's physical karma, i.e.,
the actions of the body; verbal karma, the actions of speech; and
mental karma, the actions of the mind. All human beings, all living
beings, experience good things and bad, pleasure and pain, from
karma — their own actions.

Karma is something very subtle. When you ask about rebirth and
how you'll experience pleasure and pain in future lives, you should
first study karma in your present life, your actions in your present
life. Understand your actions in the present life clearly. Once
you understand them, once you know the truth of action in the present,
then when you train the mind further you'll gradually come to the
end of your doubts. There's no one who has ever resolved doubts
about rebirth simply through reading or hearing the spoken word.
Even among those who've practiced a long time: if their discernment
isn't up to the task, they'll still have their same old doubts.
The texts tell us that doubt is ended only with the attainment of
the first of the noble paths, called stream-entry. Stream-enterers
have cut away three defilements: self-identity views, doubt, and
attachment to precepts and practices. When the discernment of the
noble path arises, knowledge of birth and death, rebirth and redeath,
arises together with it. As for our current level of discernment:
if we want to know about these things, we need to do the preliminary
work. We need to study the nature of action in the present. So today
I won't speak of future lifetimes. I'll teach about the three kinds
of action — physical action, verbal action, and mental action —
in the present.

These three kinds of action are divided into two sorts: good
and bad. Bad actions give rise to suffering. Good actions give rise
to good results: happiness, prosperity, mindfulness, and discernment,
both in the present and on into future days, future months, future
years.

Bad actions are called unskillful karma. The Buddha taught that
we should abandon this kind of karma. In the area of physical action,
that includes tormenting and killing living beings, whether large
or small. This kind of action is unskillful because it lacks good
will and compassion. All living beings love their life. If we kill
them, it's unskillful because we have no compassion, no pity, no
regard for their lives. This is why the Buddha told us not to do
it. If we kill other human beings, we get punished in the present
both by the civil law and by the Dhamma.

These three things — killing, stealing, and illicit sex — are
all called unskillful physical karma. We should contemplate them
to see why the Buddha told us not to do them. When we've contemplated
them, we'll see that they really aren't good things to do because
we wouldn't want anyone to do them to us. For example, the wealth
that we've earned is something we're possessive of. It's something
we want to use as we like. If someone were to steal it from us or
cheat us out of it, then even if that person used to be our friend,
that's the end of the friendship. We can't live with that person
any longer. We're sure to have a quarrel and a falling out. That
person might even have to go to jail for the theft. This is crude
karma, the kind whose results are visible in the immediate present.

The same holds true with the third precept. Once we've decided
to get married, to live with another person, then if that person
cheats on us, think of how much suffering there will be for both
sides. People who want peace or who are established in morality
won't praise the other person as being a good person. All of these
things are unskillful physical actions that the Buddha taught us
to abandon.

As for verbal karma, there are four kinds of unskillful action:
lying, divisive speech, harsh speech, and idle chatter. And in the
area of mental karma, there are three: greed, ill will, and wrong
views.

Whoever does any of these ten kinds of unskillful actions — the
three kinds of unskillful physical karma, the four kinds of unskillful
verbal karma, and the three kinds of unskillful mental karma — is
an unskillful person. This is why we're taught that we're the owners
of our actions. If we act in these mistaken ways, we become mistaken
people. We're the ones who are defiled by those actions: no one
else is defiled by what we do. This is why we're taught to reflect
every day that we're the owner of our actions. If we do something
bad, we become bad people and we have to reap the bad results, the
suffering that arises from that action. That's why we're taught
that we're the heirs to our actions. If we don't abandon those actions,
if we keep doing them often, the results of those actions will follow
us wherever we go. There's no way we can be regarded as good people.
This is why we're taught that we're followed by our actions. Wherever
we go, if we don't give up that kind of behavior we'll be mistrusted
by society.

The reason the Buddha has us reflect on these things — that we're
the owners of our actions, heirs to our actions, followed by our
actions — is so that we'll pay attention to our actions every day,
so that we'll see them clearly for what they are. If we don't clearly
see the nature and results of our actions, we should contemplate
them further: Why does killing result in suffering? When a person
kills, why is that person a bad person? The same holds true with
stealing and illicit sex. If we examine these actions carefully,
making our minds impartial and fair, we'll see that these actions
really are bad. They really result in suffering. We'll see for ourselves
in line with what the Buddha taught. We don't have to look at anyone
else. We just look at ourselves. If we see that what we're doing
isn't good, then when other people do the same things, the same
holds true for them. Whoever does these things is a bad person.
If a lot of people do these things, then there's trouble for a lot
of people. If everyone in the world were to do these things, the
whole world would be troubled. The peace and happiness the world
does experience comes totally from the good actions of good people.

The ten things we've been talking about are karma on the unskillful
side, but there are also ten kinds of skillful karma — three physical,
four verbal, and three mental — in just the same way. These are
the actions that bring us happiness and prosperity. In terms of
the three kinds of skillful physical karma, we use our discernment
and compassion to consider things. We have compassion for animals
that are about to be killed. If we see something belonging to someone
else that we'd like, we have compassion for them so that we wouldn't
want to steal that thing or cheat the other person out of it. If
we see an opportunity for some illicit sex, we reflect on the fact
that we're already married and should have only one heart, one love.
We should have compassion for the person we live with. If we cheat
on that person, we'll create suffering for him or her. Having only
one heart, one love, is meritorious, for it allows us to live together
for life. So if we learn to abandon the pleasures that come from
taking life, stealing, and illicit sex, we benefit. We become good
people. Society doesn't mistrust us. The society of good people
recognizes us as good people, as clean people, pure in body because
our virtues are pure. This is where purity comes from.

To save time, I'll condense the remainder of the discussion.
The ten kinds of skillful actions are the opposite of the ten kinds
of unskillful ones. In terms of the three kinds of skillful physical
karma, we abstain from the three kinds of unskillful karma. We resolve
not to do them, and we follow through absolutely in line with that
resolve. The same holds for the four kinds of skillful verbal karma.
We resolve firmly not to lie, not to engage in divisive speech,
in harsh speech, or idle chatter. We also resolve not to be greedy,
not to feel ill will for anyone, and to straighten out our views
— i.e., to hold to the principle of karma, seeing that if we do
good, we'll become good; if we do bad, we'll become bad. When we
see things in this way, our views are right in line with the truth.

Unskillful actions comes from the mind's being affected by the
defilements of greed, anger, and delusion. People kill and steal
out of greed, engage in illicit sex out of greed, steal or kill
out of anger. Sometimes they engage in illicit sex out of anger,
as a way of getting even. Sometimes they do these things out of
delusion, as when they're tricked into doing them along with other
people. That's why these three defilements — greed, anger, and delusion
— are so important. And this is why we develop mindfulness, so that
we'll see how these three defilements are the root of unskillfulness.
If they arise, they can cause us to misbehave in various ways, to
engage in unskillful karma. So when they arise, we have to use our
discernment to hold them in check.

As for skillful mental states: When we understand how unskillfulness
comes from these three defilements — when we've heard these teachings
and considered them on our own — the mind comes to feel shame at
the idea of misbehaving in any of those ways. It realizes why they
shouldn't be done. It also develops a sense of moral dread, realizing
that if we do those things, we'll become bad people. Our friends
— anyone who knows us — will criticize us, won't want to associate
with us, will despise us. When we feel this kind of dread, we can
abandon those things.

So when our discernment reaches the stage where we have this
sense of shame and moral dread, when we resolve not to do wrong
in terms of our physical, verbal, and mental karma, then skillful
mental states have arisen within us. These states will then lead
us to do all sorts of good. We'll feel compassion for others. We'll
want to help them. This in turn becomes one of our perfections,
causing other people, other beings, to love us in return. The happiness
that comes from this goodness is called merit (puñña). When
we have a sense of shame and moral dread, we exercise restraint
over our physical actions so that we don't do anything wrong. This
means that our body is pure. We exercise restraint over our speech,
not breaking our precepts, and in this way our speech is pure. We
exercise restraint over the mind, an in this way our mind is pure.
When we exercise restraint and don't do anything wrong, we'll know
for ourselves that we're good people — good because what we do is
good.

As for the good things that come from doing good: our friends
will love us, people trust us, we pose no threat to anyone anywhere.
People are happy to welcome us into their society. When we act in
this way, we're not mistrusted wherever they go. Thus, when we do
good, that good karma is ours. We'll be skillful people. If other
people do good, that good karma is theirs. As for people who don't
restrain themselves in this way, they don't have a share in that
goodness. This is why the Buddha said that we're the owners of our
actions.

If we do good, we'll experience good results. If we keep doing
good, that goodness will keep following us wherever we go. For example,
if a monk observes his precepts, exercises restraint over his words
and deeds in Thailand, the people there recognize him as a good
person. When he comes to America, we see that he's a good person
who poses no danger to us. The same holds true with us. If we behave
in a skillful way, we're good people. If we go to Thailand, the
people there will welcome us. Wherever we go, people will welcome
us. It's when we do evil that people want to keep us out.

So we can see clearly in line with what the Buddha said: Living
beings are what they are in line with their actions. If we do good,
we're good people and experience happiness. Society welcomes us.
We help bring pleasure to the world. When we see the good we've
done, we'll feel happy with ourselves. Esteem for ourselves. We
can guarantee our own purity. Wherever we go, we can go with confidence,
for there are no hidden weak points in our behavior or hearts. We're
not afraid of being found out for anything, for we have nothing
to hide. It's because of our purity that we can be confident and
brave. Wherever we go, we know that good people will welcome us.
Moreover, we can help them become better people, too. They can take
us as an example, and in this way we serve a beneficial purpose.
The activities of good people are much more beneficial than those
of people who aren't good. This is because their minds tend toward
self-sacrifice for the sake of the world, the sake of the common
good. In this way they win honor, praise, wealth, and happiness.
Society spreads their name far and wide for the goodness they've
done.

Now that you've heard about the pleasure and pain that come in
the present from good and bad karma we've done, do you understand
what I've said? Do you agree?

Question:

What about when you're about to die? What's the influence of
the karma you've done? And what's the role of mindfulness at that
point?

Ajaan Suwat:

I'm not yet talking about death. I'm talking about the present
to make sure that we first understand the present.

Mindfulness at the point of death, though, is related to present
karma. It's a form of skillful karma. If we've done good, then our
mindfulness will have the strength to recollect the goodness we've
done.

Normally, when people are about to die, two kinds of signs can
appear. The first is a karma-sign (kamma-nimitta), dealing
with actions they've done in the past. If a person has done evil,
then there may be a sign making him relive that action. When I was
a child, there was a man in the village who had slaughtered a lot
of cattle. When he was about to die, he started screaming and sounded
just like a cow being slaughtered. This is called a sign of unskillful
karma. The person relives the karma he did, although this time it's
being done to him: in the case of the man who slaughtered cattle,
he sees someone coming to kill him. When that sort of vision appears,
the mind will fall in line with it and be reborn in a state of deprivation
to suffer the consequences of its evil deeds.

The second kind of sign is a destination-sign (gati-nimitta).
You see where you're going. You may see hell, the realm of the hungry
ghosts — everywhere you look you see things corresponding to the
bad things you've done. If you die at that point, the mind will
go to that sort of destination.

Enough of these bad things. Let's talk about some good ones,
all right?.

If you've done good things and skillful things, then when you're
about to die... Especially if you've practiced meditation and attained
jhana, then when you're about to die the mind can enter one
of the rupa jhanas and be reborn on the level of the rupa
brahmas. If you've attained any of the arupa jhanas,
then you can enter jhana and reach the levels of the arupa
brahmas, in line with the mind's strength. As for more ordinary
levels of skillfulness — called kamavacara-kusala, skillfulness
on the sensual level — as when you practice generosity, observe
the precepts, and meditate, abstaining from the ten forms of unskillful
karma we've mentioned: when you're about to die, a karma-sign will
arise and you'll remember meditating in the past. You'll find yourself
meditating again, being mindful, gaining the same sense of ease
you had before. The mind then holds onto its concentration and experiences
rebirth in a pleasurable direction in one of the good destinations.
Or you may remember the happiness you felt in doing good — paying
respect to the Buddha, lighting candles and incense, giving donations
in one way or another. You may get a karma-sign that you're doing
those things again together with your friends, in the same way as
we're meditating together here: paying respect to the Buddha, sitting
in meditation, doing walking meditation. If you pass away at that
moment, the mind will experience birth in one of the good destinations.
In this way, whatever actions you did in the course of your life
will appear to you — as if you're doing them again — as you're about
die.

As for the good destination-signs, you may see gold and silver
palaces, riches, things that delight you and give you pleasure,
things corresponding to the skillful things you've done. If you
die at that point, you'll go to a good destination.

There's a story in the Dhammapada Commentary about a very virtuous
lay disciple who liked to listen to the Dhamma and made a practice
of generosity, virtue, and meditation. As he grew older and was
on his deathbed, he asked his children to invite some monks to come
recite some suttas to him. As the monks were chanting — most likely
the Mangala Sutta, the Girimananda Sutta, or the Satipatthana Sutta
— devas from all the various directions came with their royal chariots
to take the lay disciple back to their different heavens. This one
said, "Come with me." That one said, "No, come with me." So the
devas started fighting over him. The lay disciple, seeing this,
said, "Stop!" As soon as he said that, the monks — who didn't see
the devas — stopped chanting and went back to their monastery. Soon
after, the lay man asked his children, "What happened to all the
monks?" The children answered, "Well, you told them to stop, so
they stopped chanting and went back to the monastery." "No," the
lay disciple said, "I didn't tell them to stop. I told the
devas to stop fighting." The children didn't believe him
that any devas had come. All they could think was that he was losing
his mind. He insisted, though, that the devas had come to welcome
him to their heavens. "If you don't believe me, take that garland
and throw it in the air." So they threw the garland in the air and
it caught on the edge of one of the deva's chariots as it was about
to leave. The children didn't see the chariot, all they could see
was the garland whizzing through the air. The only person who could
see the devas was their father.

This is one of the rewards of acting skillfully, or serving a
useful purpose in life. When you're about to die, the devas come
to take you to their heavens. They want you to join them — for there's
happiness in living with wise people, in associating with people
who are good.

In short, the three types of skillfulness that lead to a good
destination are danamaya, generosity, helping other people
to live in pleasure and happiness; silamaya, virtue, observing
the five precepts and ten forms of skillful action; and bhavanamaya,
meditation, developing the mind. I ask that you have conviction
in meditation, that you set your minds on doing it. Whether or not
your minds settle down doesn't really matter. Even if you don't
gain release from suffering in this lifetime, you're developing
good habits that will act as supporting conditions in future lifetimes.
The reward of your meditation is that you'll be mindful, discerning,
and intelligent. You'll live long and feel mental well-being. If
you get to hear the Dhamma in the future, you'll more easily gain
Awakening. These are some of the rewards of meditating.

So don't let yourselves grow weary of the meditation. Don't tell
yourselves that you don't get anything from doing it. At the very
least, you gain skillfulness on the sensual level; you develop awareness,
understanding, and intelligence as supporting conditions for your
future happiness, both in this life and on into the next.

That's enough explanation for now. May each and every one of
you meet with peace and prosperity.

Please excuse me for asking this question, but from what I've
heard you say, you feel that it's all right for lay people to practice
meditation if they want to, but those who are really intent on the
practice, who really want to get full results, should ordain. But
women don't have the opportunity to ordain the way men do. So my
question is why. When a woman gets good results from practicing
concentration and insight meditation, she gains a sense of self-confidence.
Yet when she sees that women no longer have the chance to ordain
as they did in the time of the Buddha, it destroys her self-confidence.

Ajaan Suwat:

Please listen carefully, for this is an important matter that
we should all be informed about.

Ordination is a ceremony that the Buddha laid down, both for
the Bhikkhu Sangha and for the Bhikkhuni Sangha. When he had allowed
women to ordain, there were many women who, on practicing the Dhamma,
reached arahantship, some of them with special abilities like the
Buddha's famous male disciples. For example, the Buddha praised
Sister Khema as foremost among the bhikkhunis in terms of her discernment,
just as he praised Sariputta as foremost in discernment among the
bhikkhus. He praised Sister Uppalavanna as foremost among the bhikkhunis
in terms of her psychic powers, just as he praised Moggallana as
the foremost bhikkhu in terms of his psychic powers. For a long
time afterwards, women continued ordaining and practicing the Dhamma,
but for what reason I don't know, they weren't able to maintain
their lineage all the way up to the present.

Now, the Buddha decreed that any man who wants to ordain must
have a preceptor, and that there must be at least five members of
the Sangha sitting in on the ordination. One of the Sangha members
is agreed upon by the group as the person who will question the
candidate concerning his qualifications, to see if he will be able
to practice the Buddha's teachings on becoming ordained. When all
the Sangha members see that the candidate is qualified, they make
a public announcement of his ordination.

The same requirements were laid down for the Bhikkhuni Sangha.
The candidate has to have a bhikkhuni as her preceptor, and the
Bhikkhuni Sangha has to question her concerning her qualifications.
When they see that she is qualified, they admit her into the Bhikkhuni
Sangha.

To govern the life of both Sanghas, the Buddha laid down rules
and requirements, called the vinaya. In laying down these rules,
it wasn't the case that the Buddha called a meeting and laid them
down all in advance. Only when an individual bhikkhu had misbehaved
did the Buddha call a meeting of the Sangha to question the offender
about what he had done. When the offender admitted his wrong-doing,
the Buddha would lay down a training rule, one at a time. If someone
else misbehaved in another way, the Buddha would call another meeting
and add another rule. He continued doing this in response to the
actual misdeeds of the bhikkhus.

The same held true for the bhikkhunis. If an individual bhikkhuni
misbehaved, the Buddha would call a meeting of the Sangha, over
which he would preside. When he had questioned the offender and
she had admitted to her wrong-doing, he would lay down a rule to
prevent that kind of behavior from being repeated in the future.
As this happened many times — as members of the Sangha misbehaved
in various ways, causing trouble in the Sangha — the Buddha kept
adding more and more rules. After he passed away, no one knows why
but there's no report of the Bhikkhuni Sangha in the account of
the First and Second Councils. The account of the Third Council
reports that bhikkhunis were involved at that time, and some of
them were sent to Sri Lanka. The bhikkhunis continued their ordination
lineage for centuries after that, but for some unknown reason the
lineage no longer exists in the present.

Now that there are no longer any bhikkhunis, there's no way that
women can simply become bhikkhunis on their own, for no one would
dare certify that they'd be acting in line with the Buddha's promulgations.
There are no preceptors to train them, no Bhikkhuni Sangha to join.
The requirements set down for women to ordain are that there must
be a bhikkhuni to act as preceptor, there must be a bhikkhuni to
question the candidate as to her qualifications, and there must
be a quorum of bhikkhunis who agree to admit the candidate into
the Sangha. Then they send someone to inform the Bhikkhu Sangha
that the woman of this-and-this name has been ordained. When the
bhikkhus are formally informed, then the candidate would count as
a bhikkhuni, on an equal footing in the training with all the other
bhikkhunis.

It's right here that I would like to express my sympathy. Why
weren't the bhikkhunis able to maintain their lineage? If they had
maintained their lineage, then women would be able to ordain just
like men. No one would be able to stop them. After all, the Buddha
gave his permission for women to ordain. This is why I feel sympathy
for those who would like to ordain.

What I've said so far applies to the Theravadan tradition. The
Theravadan Bhikkhuni Sangha no longer exists. The Mahayanists say
that their bhikkhuni lineages still exist, but if you look at their
behavior and practices, they've strayed very far from the vinaya.
This is why the Theravadan tradition doesn't recognize them as bhikkhunis.
The Mahayanists say their way is right, but we don't get involved
in that discussion. If, on studying the matter, you feel conviction
in the practice of the Mahayana bhikkhunis, that's one opportunity
for ordination.

Actually, ordination is simply a formality, a customary procedure
in line with the rules of the Sangha. In the area of meditation,
the Buddha didn't forbid anyone — man or woman — from practicing.
If you're really convinced of the value of the practice, you don't
have to put on ochre robes in line with monastic customs. Once you've
developed a correct understanding of the Buddha's teachings — when
you have strong conviction and want to practice the noble eightfold
path in full — I'm thoroughly convinced that you can practice without
having to put on monastic robes. You can go off on your own and
practice to the point of developing the mindfulness and discernment
needed to gain release from suffering. It's said that if lay people
reach arahantship, they can simply start wearing white, observing
the eight precepts, and live apart from lay people in general. In
this way, they can live out their full life span without any difficulty.
Lay people can attain arahantship if they're really firmly convinced
and courageous.

Question:

I'm glad to hear you say that, for I was under the impression
that ordaining was supposed to be better than lay life in the area
of the practice.

Ajaan Suwat:

I'm in no position to give any opinion as to whether being ordained
is better or not. We simply practice in line with the Dhamma and
Vinaya laid down by the Buddha. We don't claim to be better than
anyone else.

There was once a person who asked the Buddha, "Do those who are
able to reach nibbana exist only in the Buddha's monastic Sangha,
or are other groups of people able to reach arahantship as well?"
The Buddha answered, "Anyone — no matter what group he or she belongs
to — who practices correctly in line with the noble eightfold is
able to reach nibbana." This shows that lay people, if they practice
correctly, can reach nibbana as well. So you can rest assured that
the Buddha wasn't prejudiced in any way.

Question:

I never thought that the Buddha was prejudiced, just that the
Theravadan tradition in its practice has been prejudiced against
women.

Ajaan Suwat:

The Buddha taught nothing but the truth. If something wasn't
true, he wouldn't say it. He taught the Dhamma in such a way that
anyone who contemplated it could confirm what he was saying. If
there were things that other people, on consideration, couldn't
see or know, he wouldn't teach them or lay them down as rules. This
is why his teachings are sanditthiko, visible here and now.
If people who listen to them practice correctly in line with them,
they can see the truth of his every word for themselves. This way
they can develop self-confidence.

Once, when the Buddha had come to a river, he picked up a fistful
of sand and asked the monks who were following him, "Which is greater,
this fistful of sand or the sand in all the rivers and oceans?"
The monks answered, "The sand in the Blessed One's fist is a small
amount, lord. The sand in all the rivers and oceans is far more."

The Buddha then responded, "In the same way, monks, those things
that I have known with direct knowledge but have not taught are
like the sand in all the rivers and oceans. The things I have taught
are like this fistful of sand."

Any teaching that was true but wouldn't serve a purpose — in
other words, things that his listeners couldn't confirm for themselves
— the Buddha wouldn't teach. And he wouldn't deceive the world by
teaching anything useless or untrue. He taught only the genuine
truth that his listeners could understand and confirm for themselves
through the practice.

I've explained quite a lot already. When there's a lot of speaking,
there's simply a lot of breath. My hope is that you all will learn
from listening, in line with your mindfulness, and then take what
you've learned and put it into practice so that it will serve a
purpose. Even though it may not be much, my hope is that it's enough
to serve a purpose.

You've sacrificed a lot — your work, all kinds of things — in
coming here to practice. Coming together like this doesn't happen
easily. Our interpreter has sacrificed his time, too, inspired by
his sense that you want to practice. The organizer, Larry Rosenberg,
has given a lot of his time and energy to the arrangements that
have enabled us to come together to practice, out of a similar desire:
the desire that all of you learn and practice the correct way to
lead your lives, so that you'll reach purity in line with the principles
of the Buddha's teachings — the same teachings he taught his disciples
in the past, so that they too were able to reach purity. The teachings
of the Buddha are still with us. Those of us in the present should
listen to them and put them into practice so as to serve a purpose,
just like the people in the past. That way we'll find happiness
and prosperity in our lives.

So I ask that you remember what you've learned here, contemplate
it, and put it into practice so that all of you — each and every
one — will benefit in line with your aims.

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